


Changes in the Moon

by genericfanatic



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Aragorn/Arwen - Freeform, Faramir/Eowyn - Freeform, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genericfanatic/pseuds/genericfanatic
Summary: Legolas hasn't faced much death in his long life, not enough to really understand that he himself might die. Gimli helps him to face his new reality, and then Legolas helps Gimli face the fact he's done so.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	Changes in the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know much lore other than what I've read in fanfics so shrug

They’d become friends in Lothlorien, that was for sure. The moment the Lady Galadriel saw into the dwarf’s heart and approved, Legolas was more open to him. Gimli was less sure, but as he saw Legolas alone, staring up at the moon, he felt that maybe he’d been just as unfair as the elf had been to him. If Legolas was going to make an effort, though, then Gimli could as well. 

But perhaps this wasn’t the time. The elves always seemed to feel things so DEEPLY, and it was clear he was contemplating something in that golden head of his. If Gimli was going to make this effort, he would do it right, later, and so he turned to leave. 

“Stay, won’t you?” Legolas asked without looking over. 

“How did you--” Gimli started, and watched a smug smile creep over Legolas’ face. “Honestly! I do not breathe that loudly.”

Legolas’ smile twitched, a silent laugh at his protest. “No,” he said, “But the footsteps of a dwarf are unique here.” Finally, Legolas looked over, making room on the ledge he sat on, “Come. If you want.”

Gimli didn’t quite know how to respond. “Well. If you insist.” he said, pulling himself up as best he could. The steps were not made for those with short legs, but Legolas kindly waited him out instead of offering help. 

Finally, Gimli sat beside him, and Legolas continued looking up at the moon. “Has it changed?” Gimli asked. Legolas gave him a quizzical look. “Well, you’ve been staring at it so intensely. Are you trying to track it’s changes with your elven eyes?”

Legolas smiled, continuing to stare. “The moon always changes,” he said, “Just slightly. But it always comes back. It will hang here, in this place, again tomorrow. In a month it will have this shape.” He looked down, sadly, “Gandalf will not come back.”

Gimli hummed, as Legolas took to staring more at his knees with the same fascination as the moon. “Were you close, before?” 

Legolas gave a pensive shrug. “I knew him. He would visit the Mirkwood sometimes. But it is more...he is immortal,” Legolas said, “I knew him as a child. He is longer lived than my father. And now, he’s gone.”

Gimli nodded, considering the elf. “You haven’t faced much death in your long life, have you, Elf?”

Legolas took a deep breath, “I know of it,” he said, “I’ve seen it, in shorter lived creatures. And I’ve read stories about elves who have died.”

“But you’ve never really had to face the idea that YOU might die,” Gimli finished for him, “Have you, Elf?”

Legolas frowned, tightening in on himself. He almost seemed like a child. “I’ve been in dangerous situations before,” he said, “And I’m willing to, to protect Frodo and save all of middle Earth. But I’ve never really thought about...about what that might mean.”

Gimli hummed again in understanding. “Dwarves will be brought forth to our creator. Broken down from our flesh bodies and made into our whole being. To bring all the lessons we have learned in this life, and use it to help build the next world.”

Gimli did very well at only freezing and not squawking in surprise as Legolas leaned over, resting his head on top of Gimli’s. “That sounds nice. Hopeful. That you get to move on, and make something.”

Gimli grunted, mind going blank as the elf all but lay on him. “Well,” he said, desperately trying to think of words, “Since you and I are together in this quest, if you were to pass I would pass along side you. You’d be welcome to come, should the creator allow. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Legolas chuckled and Gimli could feel the vibration of it against his skin. “I would appreciate that very much, Dwarf,” he said. 

Gimli didn’t know what else to say to that, so he didn’t. They sat in silence, looking at the moon together, and as Gimli stared, he saw that Legolas was right. The moon did change. 

Everyone noted the change between the two of them, but it was difficult to pin down. The banter and jabs they spoke had less poison, their fights more of a friendly competition. Gimli felt like an adolescent again, play fighting with others his age. 

He wondered if Elf children got to play in the same way. He knew children were rare, and kept heavily secret until they were older. When he was young, he believed there weren’t any elven children, and that they came from trees fully formed. Legolas couldn’t stop laughing when Gimli told him that, and what was worse, Gimli was glad to make him laugh. 

The fellowship broke. Boromir died. Merry and Pippin had been taken by Orcs. 

Still, the world did not feel hopeless. Gimli had Legolas and Aragorn by his side, and they worked to right the world. Soon they found Gandalf again (with brand new robes and the same annoying riddles) and Merry and Pippin were saved, though not with them. 

Things didn’t feel hopeless until they sat at Helms deep. Aragorn returned from the dead, with the news that 10,000 Orcs were marching on them, and the men walked as if they were already defeated. All of them, except for Aragorn. 

“THEN I SHALL DIE AS ONE OF THEM!” He yelled at Legolas, before stalking off to help prepare as much as they could.

Gimli couldn’t understand their Elven argument, but got the gist. “Let him go lad,” Gimli bid Legolas, “Let him be.”

Legolas bristled, then turned in the other direction, heading towards the stables.

Gimli followed him, not bothering to try and keep pace with an Elf who had a mind for speed about him. He trusted that Legolas would allow himself to be caught, and indeed was, gearing up Arod to ride out. “So. Heading home?” Gimli asked, nonchalantly.

Legolas stared at him, teeth clenched. He was ready to fight any challenge Gimli provided, and so Gimli gave him one. “The Greenwood will soon be under attack just the same,” he said, “They could use my help.”

“We could use it here as well,” he said. Legolas’ brow furrowed, so Gimli continued before he could rebutt, “But, this isn’t your homeland. Not your people. And this place is slated for death.” 

Legolas tensed up, not daring to look at him. “I swore to protect the Ring Bearer,” he said, “But Frodo is gone. I swore to save Merry and Pippin, but they were saved by another’s hand. Here, my death will just be one of many, many who will all die anyway, within my lifetime.” 

Gimli leaned against the stable door. “Do you really think so low of us mortals?”

Legolas turned on him, but with dwarven endurance he didn’t flinch. “If this is more about your distaste for my kind--”

“This has nothing to do with you being an elf,” Gimli said, “This is to do with you being afraid.” 

Legolas looked like he’d been struck. No, he looked more surprised than that, backing away. “It’s alright,” Gimli said, “It’s alright to be afraid. Everyone here is afraid. But they have no choice. They fight to try and save their families, and even if they are not successful, better to have died trying. You and I do have a choice.”

Legolas couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Why do you choose to fight here, then?”

Gimli shrugged, “Because Aragorn has asked me,” he said, “Because this place needs every warrior it can get. But worry not, Elf. I doubt one archer could really make much of a dent anyway.”

Legolas’ eyes flicked up to him, questioning. “Is that a challenge, Dwarf?” 

Gimli crossed his arms, faking deep pensive thought. “You know, I think it was, Elf.” 

Legolas chewed on his lip. It was a stupid thing to die for, pride. But Gimli already knew it would work anyway. “If I die,” Legolas said, “I’m going to follow you to your next world. And the first thing you build I am going to tip over like a tower made of sand.”

Gimli barked out a laugh, “Better make it one I will not expect! Or I will just build something specifically for you to break!” 

Legolas actually snorted, which Gimli did not know Elves were capable of. “Excellent advice, thank you.” He sighed, “Let us prepare then. I do not wish you complaining that you were taken down by a technicality.”

“Ah” Gimli shouted offended as Legolas took off, “Talking about ME complaining! Well, I don’t want to hear about your downfall because the armor was not sweet-smelling enough for your liking!” Legolas laughed, but was already many steps ahead. 

If Gimli didn’t know him better, he’d say Legolas was giddy after returning from Isenguard. He had been watching the elf closely after the battle. The challenge had successfully distracted him from his fear of death, but Gimli was worried that seeing the elves die would affect him the same as Gandalf’s “””death.”””

But Legolas showed little sign of mourning. He helped with the burials for the men, and packing up the bodies of the elves so they may be sent across the waters, but didn’t seem out of sorts or oddly distressed. 

This concerned Gimli all the more, worried that Legolas was holding his pain deep inside him, perhaps, as many dwarves were like to do. However, this behavior in an elf could have unintended consequences if that pain were released at an inopportune moment. So, he stuck close to the elf, even as he came and celebrated victory and the glorious dead with the men. “Aren’t you…” Gimli asked, as Legolas returned from learning some form of human dance. Legolas raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish his question, “Are you alright? Before the battle you seemed….concerned.” It wasn’t the right words, but he hoped he got his point across. 

Legolas smiled, “We lived, Mellon-nin,” he said, forgoing his usual moniker of just ‘dwarf,’ “And those who passed allowed us to do so.” He looked out upon the many men around him, “If in some future battle I am to die, now I know what my sacrifice might bring. But until that day, I shall enjoy this gift.”

Gimli smiled, but he was no less worried. Still, it wasn’t the time to bring this up, so instead he said, “Well, then let us enjoy it to the fullest!”

They got sloshed. 

Legolas’ stamina left him in slightly better condition, not getting louder and clumsier like Gimli. Instead he swayed slightly, looking around at the bright torchlights as though they were glittering fairies. 

It allowed him to help Gimli back to his room and his bed, but once inside, he tripped and fell on the bed, much to the delight of the dwarf who laughed unabashedly as he could not seem to find his way back to standing. 

Instead, he stayed the night there, the both of them waking late in the morning if they were to guess by how high the sun hung in the sky.

“Ugh,” Gimli grumbled, turning over, “Turn it off,” he demanded, waving his hand at the bright light.

“The sun?” Legolas asked, bemused.

“If that’s what it takes,” Gimli said, rubbing his palm in his eyes. “My eyes were made for the dark underground, not this bright nonsense.” Legolas hummed, not looking at him, as he reached around for a small pillow. He tossed it at the window, managing to hit it in such a way the curtains fell. “Showoff.”

Legolas grinned, scooting closer to him on the bed. “Do you remember everything from last night?” he asked. 

“I was not THAT drunk,” Gimli said.

Legolas’ grin widened, “Yes you were,” he said, to which Gimli grunted annoyed, “I only ask to see if it lines up with my own. You see, I have a memory which I am unsure if actually happened or if perhaps it was an illusion of my dreams.”

Gimli frowned at him, peeking his eyes just slightly open to study him. If Gimli were to guess, and in this state of mind he was hardly sure he wanted to, he’d have said that Legolas looked nervous. “My memory is fogged, but I think relatively intact. Tell me your memory and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”

Legolas hesitated a moment. “We were here,” he said, “You were laughing at me.”

“So far so good,” Gimli nodded.

Legolas’ face briefly showed his annoyance but he continued. “You kissed me,” he said, and that shut Gimli right up. “Leaned over and pressed you mouth on mine, pressing me into the bed, before you finally passed out.”

Gimli searched through his own mind the way a man might search for a lost jewel. “I--” he started, but no more sound came after that, not even as he willed it. There was something, a memory….Legolas face coming closer to his own, a desire to stop his frowning….a feeling of skin as smooth as a stone weathered by the river a hundred years. 

If tortured for his life by Sauron himself, Gimli could not say for truth why he had done it. Sure, he had had….thoughts...a dream or two turned toward the elf where he woke up feeling uncomfortable. But he’d had those thoughts of others before, maybe not as of recently, but he’d been traveling with the elf for so long it was only natural that is where his mind went. 

And now...now the elf was starting up at him with a certain vulnerability, it was as though he’d handed the dwarf a knife pointed at his own throat, giving him the decision to kill him or not. “It’s not the dwarf way,” Gimli said instead of an answer. 

Legolas tilted his head, only a slight disappointment showing, but enough to fill Gimli with guilt. “What is not the dwarf way?”

“There are steps,” he said, “A very strict structure to courtship. To simply ignore it, and jump steps would be most improper.”

Legolas hummed, laying back down and scooting closer to him. “What are these ‘steps’?” he asked. 

Gimli wondered what he was on about, but didn’t see harm in answering. “Well. First are gifts. A courting gift, from an interested dwarf to another. There are some traditional gifts, Jewelry, Hair beads, usually something of beauty, but often is something a bit more personal, dear to the dwarf in particular, and never anything easily broken or temporary. If the gift is accepted, with the full knowledge and consent that it is a courting gift, then courting has begun, and neither dwarf can pursue any other dwarves, until death, marriage, or a breaking of the courting.”

Legolas nodded, “It sounds more of a contract than the beginning of a relationship.”

“We are not flighty creatures, master elf,” Gimli said, “We are made from the hardened places of the world. We take nothing lightly.” Legolas nodded again, not judging, but listening, so Gimli thought it best to speak. “Then, comes exchanging of words. You elves would like that part, a lot of poetry and song.” Legolas smiled, “Then, touches. Nothing carnal,” he said frowning at the glint in Legolas’ eye, “More like...grooming. We will braid each other’s hair and beards, and show light signs of affection.”

“Like kisses?” Legolas asked.

Gimli cleared his throat, “Yes, like kisses. The next part is really just a lot of talking, for the most part. Spending time together, getting to know one another, showing off their skills. If one is a chef, for example, they may cook for their beloved. Or perhaps they will make more gifts, shower them in gold. Then, comes the meeting of families, to ensure everyone gets along. They’ll live one year together in the same home, and then….marriage.”

Legolas had scooted closer to him, but he was not sure when. Gimli could see his pupils, a great deal darker than he’d expect, and...soft. Very soft. “Fascinating,” Legolas said, “Elves are...quite different.”

“More poetry?” Gimli asked. 

Legolas laughter sounded like bells, surrounding Gimli in warmth. “Yes. But that’s not what I meant.” He readjusted his head on the pillow, and the two were nearly forehead to forehead. “Elves live a long time, mellon nin. And we ARE flighty creatures. From the time we reach adulthood, we will partner with any and all who are willing, some more than others, but still, pairing with just one person is...quite rare.”

Gimli swallowed, a great deal of his blood leaving his face to go….somewhere, at the thought of Legolas flitting from partner to partner. “And...you have….uh….” Legolas nodded. “Ah. Interesting,” he said, trying to sound normal. Was this normal? Was he talking normal? “But there are elves who do marry, yes? The Lady Galadriel…”

“Has been with Celeborn many centuries,” Legolas nodded, “yes, it happens, but like I said, it is rare, and therefore taken very seriously. For if one decides to marry, the pair will very possibly live..well, forever together. Or even worse, if one were to perish, the other very likely will out of grief. Sometimes even those even deeply in love would rather separate amicably than face such a fate.”

Gimli frowned. To die was very different for an elf and a dwarf. It only made sense their traditions were so different. “Ah. Well. It seems our people’s ways are...very different from one another.” 

“Very,” Legolas’ face was coming closer again.

“It explains a lot of the strife our people have had. Not understanding one another.” Gimli’s voice had become a whisper. 

“Mm-hmm,” Legolas said, his eyes drifting closed.

“Our people are probably...completely incompatible with one another.” 

Legolas stopped, and his eyes drifted open again. Slowly, he backed away, and Gimli wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted or not. “It was an interesting dream,” he said, eyes wandering away, maybe miles away. Gimli had to remind himself what started this conversation. “Very vivid. I could feel every beard hair against my chin.” 

This was torture, Gimli decided. Somehow he had died and was being punished for his horrible acts, maybe even for the horror of coveting an elf, and this was his torture. “Anyway,” Legolas continued, “Perhaps we should join--”

There was something in Gimli that could no longer be contained. He grabbed hold of the elf’s chin, dragging it back to face him once again, not allowing a second of contemplation before he kissed him again. 

It was not a kiss sung about in ballads or poems. It was a bit sloppy, Gimli’s own lack of experience hindering him, and both alcohol and sleep affecting the taste, but Legolas hand came up to cradle Gimli’s own against him. He tilted his head, allowing for better position, and Gimli happily reciprocated.

Before long, Gimli pushed light on Legolas shoulders, climbing on top of him and pressing him into the mattress. With this position, though, there was no way to hide the growing hardness between his legs. 

Gimli slid back to sit up, looking down at Legolas face, his hair splayed out over the pillow like sunlight, his eyes so dark he couldn’t see the iris, and a smug smile stretching from ear to pointy ear. “Get that smile off your face, elf,” Gimli ordered, working his laces, “And take the rest of your clothes with it, while you’re at it.”

Legolas was only happy to oblige. 

Well, that was fast, Gimli thought to himself, laying back in his bed.

Despite what he’d said to Legolas, it wasn’t unheard of for dwarves to...explore outside the bonds of courtship. It was rare and frowned upon, and his father would be furious, but he wasn’t exactly the first dwarf to do it.

Possibly the first with an elf, though. If there had been such a case before, he’s sure he would have heard of the scandal. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not really. It did leave him with a lot to think on, though. 

Tired of thinking himself in circles he finally got up. Legolas had left a bit ago, laying one last kiss on him with a promise to see him at the feast that night. Gimli had stayed in bed at least an hour longer before hunger and other bodily functions got the best of him, forcing him to leave his room. 

He wasn’t sure if he thought it out, but he found his way to Aragorn, brushing his damn horse and singing to him, “Aragorn, my friend,” he said, interrupting the song. “Have you seen Legolas today?”

Aragorn continued his horse grooming. This would be the shiniest horse in all of Middle Earth at this rate, though all the horses in Rohan were well cared for. “I saw him heading out past the gates less than an hour ago,” he said, “Said he had some form of mission, but wouldn’t tell me what it was or who sent him on it. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“I don’t think so,” Gimli said, thinking and sitting on a barrel. “In any case, I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Aragorn said, not paying him much mind. 

“About the Lady Arwen.” Gimli said, and that got him to stop. “I hope not to make you uncomfortable.”

Aragorn paused for a long moment before brushing through the horse’s mane again, “You did not,” he said, “At least not yet, depending on what you wish to speak about.”

Gimli took a few breaths, working out his words before he said them, “Legolas told me that an exclusive pair among elves is rare,” He said, “I know you favor her, but...but is that what you have?”

Aragorn swallowed, “We are not married,” he said, “And I doubt we ever will be. But also we were not….it was not the sort of short pairing of the elves.” He sighed, “I was young when I first fell for her. I did not understand the burden my love for her would be.”

“So, it is a burden,” Gimli said, “For an elf to love a mortal?”

Aragorn sighed, “Arwen has a choice. The blood of a human runs through her veins, and should she wish, she would age, slower than any man but still there, and eventually die. I would not have her make that choice. Not for me.” Aragorn put his brush in a bucket, patting the horse to run off it’s energy with it’s compatriots, and Aragorn turned to Gimli. “Legolas does not have that choice.”

Gimli’s blood ran cold. “How did you--”

“Gimli,” Aragorn said, eyebrow raised, “I traveled with you both across half of Middle Earth, and I am not blind.”

Gimli blustered, turning in on himself, “Perhaps I am,” he said, “I know little about the elves, partly from the limited knowledge available to me, some out of malicious ignorance. But what Legolas told me…” He sighed, “I do not know if I like any of the options available to me.”

Aragorn jumped onto the stable wall, sitting across from him, “What options are those?”

Gimli sighed, “For one, he and I might have some form of fling, like the elves do. I do not shame their ways, really, I can understand the appeal. Still, I don’t think my heart is built for it.” He clutched his own leg, fingers digging into his flesh, “And I especially do not wish to be treated as some plaything for an elf.”

“I highly doubt that is the way Legolas sees it,” Aragorn said, “He has grown just as much in our journeys as you have.”

Gimli groaned. “Then, say we stay together, for a short time. I either allow myself to get attached or don’t, and then one of the thousand factors standing between us finally cleaves us apart and...and I will have lost a dear friend.”

Aragorn frowned, humming, “That is certainly a risk in all relationships, among dwarves, men, and even elves. But the question is if the reward is worth the risk.”

“Aye, and it is the reward I fear most of all,” Gimli said, bowing his head, “If somehow, against all odds, this goes well, if we fall in love and manage to stay together in some way I cannot even conceive right now...one day I will die. I’d hope later than sooner, but in less than a minute for an elf. A young elf too, if I am to understand their ways.” He sighed, “If I love him, would it not be best to let him go? To stop this before it starts so that I won’t inflict a grave upon him?” 

He looked at Aragorn who had some sparkle in his eye that might have been a tear. “Aye, Gimli,” he said, “There do not seem to be many good options in front of either of us. Unfortunately for us both, it is not a decision either of us are burdened with alone.” 

He nodded across the field. Following his gaze, Gimli lay his eyes upon Legolas, returning from the fields with some form of stone in his hand. His eyes met Gimli’s and the dwarf could hardly believe the dilemma he was having not a moment before. “I’ll take my leave of you,” Aragorn said, and Gimli only saw him leave through his periphery. Legolas took up too much of his vision, and Gimli realized it was too late. Somewhere along the line, the sneaky elf had already stolen his heart. 

Legolas reached him and held out the stone, “For you,” he said.

Hesitant, Gimli took it, and nearly fell over with the unexpected weight. “Blasted orc piss,” Gimli burst out, “What is this for?”

“It’s a whetstone,” Legolas said, “It has the perfect curvature of your axe blade, density to not wear easily, and a surface that will not dull the finery’s.” Legolas smiled, “Something that isn’t temporary or breakable, but has meaning to you. I know how you care for your weapon as an extension of yourself.”

Gimli looked it over. On a second viewing, he found Legolas was right. It would even fit in the saddle bag well, so he could take it on their journeys. But there was something about what Legolas said that struck a chord in him. “Legolas is this…” he almost dared not say the words, for fear naming it would make it disappear, “Is this a courting present?”

Legolas tilted his head at him as he did when he was confused, “Well, of course,” he said, “Or did I not make my intentions known the morning?” 

Flashes of that very morning flew through Gimli’s head, a mess of skin and limbs and lust, but still, “You had mentioned fleeting pairings among the elves,” he said, “I didn’t know if, ah,”

Legolas sat on the barrel instead, allowing Gimli the height advantage for once. “Oh,” he said, “But after you had explained the seriousness the dwarves take this...did you prefer it to be fleeting?”

“No!” Gimli said, which was an interesting time to realize he meant it, “No, I simply….I suppose I rushed things a bit, because...Cursed beings, I don’t know because. Because it felt...right.”

Legolas smiled, one of his small smiles looking at Gimli through his eyelashes, “It felt right to me as well,” he bit his lip, “I don’t know how to do this, really, how to...pursue someone. But I’d be willing to try, if you let me.”

Gimli stuttered a moment. “But,” he managed, “I don’t...It’s not that I don’t want to….” How was he going to explain this? He reached out his hands to hold the elf’s,“I’m mortal, Legolas. You are...not. I have seen how this dichotomy has weighed on you, and I don’t wish to hurt you further.”

Legolas laughed, taking Gimli’s hand and laying a kiss on his fingers. “If this journey has taught me anything, Meleth nin, it is that we might die any day. I would rather live the way I want than spend my life trying to preserve it.” He pulled Gimli a step closer, and Gimli was only to glad to do so. “I am under no illusion that this will be without it’s share of trials and compromises. But I am ready to face them, with you by my side.”

Gimli’s heart swelled. “Well then,” he said, clutching the whetstone close, “In that case: I accept your courting gift.”

Legolas smile could brighten a sunless day. “There is one thing, I’d like to modify on the dwarven courtship,” he said, “If you don’t object, I’d like to move the touching part far sooner in the--”

Legolas did not get to finish his sentance as Gimli once again cut him off with a kiss. The force of the motion knocked over the barrel the elf sat upon and sent them both tumbling to the ground. They were sure they attracted a fair share of onlookers, but did not care what the humans thought of the mismatched pair. For just one moment, Middle Earth shrank away to the size of two people. 

If Gimli thought the pair had been acting like children before, it was nothing to now. 

He could feel Aragorn’s irritation at them, considering he had to deal with big things like convincing the King of Rohan to actually give a shit about Gondor, but he couldn’t really seem to care. 

He’d discovered several things about Legolas. First of all, Legolas was absolutely weak in the knees to poetry. A kind word or compliment alone got him flustered. He was also trying very hard to respect Dwarven traditions and follow the steps as best he could, but he couldn’t really keep himself from the touches. He seemed to thrive on them, and not just sex and kisses, but simple things. Putting his head on top of Gimli, holding his hand, resting his leg or head in his lap…

Gimli did not mind this breach in tradition. Granted, Legolas tended to hang onto him like a barnacle, but he managed it fine. 

They kept it a little hidden around the men, not out of shame, but propriety. War had found them once again, and they marched on Gondor.

It was harder to keep up courting while marching toward battle, but they rode together, ate together, slept...beside each other. They did manage a few signs of affection. Gimli had a pouch to put the interesting rocks Legolas had found for him, and Legolas took to braiding flowers Gimli picked for him into his hair.

Despite this, Gimli was worried. He remembered how scared Legolas had been going into Helms Deep, but here, going again into a battle with too few numbers for a kingdom of men, and yet Legolas was acting….well, chipper.

Gimli attributed it to their new relationship, and some earned bravery from the last battle. He wasn’t seriously worried until they faced the caves of the dead.

It felt unnatural to feel so uncomfortable under the ground. It should have been like home, it had always felt like home before. Legolas hates the underground, feeling confined. And yet he hardly flinched at the cave of death.

Something was up. The ship seemed empty other than the three of them, even though he knew it wasn’t. There were wisps of figures moving in and out of his vision, and he knew he was surrounded. It made him tense.

“You seem relaxed,” Gimli said to Legolas.

Legolas opened his eyes from where he was sitting, like he was meditating. “I’m preparing for the upcoming battle.”

“Aye,” Gimli said, sitting in front of him. Legolas relaxed again, and it bugged him. “I don’t want you to die.” The words flung from him without his knowledge, the truth managing to escape his lips without first passing through his brain.

Legolas opened his eyes again, tilting his head the way he always did when he was trying to read him, read him in a way deeper than anyone ever knew. “I don’t want you to die either, Melleth nin,” He said, “I will do all I can to protect you.”

“No,” Gimli shifted closer to him, taking his hands, “no, you mustn’t. Not everything.” Legolas frowned at him. “The battle will be harsh, but we have a chance now. But I will die anyway, someday. You won’t.”

Legolas’ frown deepened, “After all this, are you telling me you believe an elf’s life is more important than a dwarf?”

“It’s not about worth,” He said, “it’s just. I am worried you have decided your life is already forfeit, and I will not have it.” Gimli tried to look as serious as he could, “There is bravery and there is stupidity. You-you throwing yourself into danger is just unnecessary. I appreciate you’ve overcome your fear, but there is a limit.”

“This is about fear,” Legolas said, “your fear.”

Gimli didn’t know he could frown any more, but he found the ability. “What?” 

Legolas pulled Gimli’s hands into his own. “It’s frightening. To go into battle alongside someone you love,” he said, “I do not know what I would do if something were to happen to you.”

“But something WILL happen to me,” he said, and for some reason there were tears burning in his eyes, “perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in 100 years or more! And still it will happen, and I,” He swallowed, “I will not drag you down with me. I could not bear it.”

He bowed his head, but Legolas picked it back up, cradling his face and running his fingers through his beard hair. “Meleth,” He said, “if it reassures you, know that I have no intention to die. I will do all I can, both to fight to save the world, and to live in it once it is saved. I know not what the future holds, but I hope to sail to Valinor, someday.” He pressed forward, touching his head to Gimli’s, “But if you think pulling away from me or lecturing me or whatever else will spare me from the pain of falling in love with you, then you are far too late.”

Gimli jerked away, staring at him, the word ‘love’ hanging in the air. “Wait, what do you mean ‘far’?” He demanded, “when did you…”

“Fall in love with you?” Legolas asked, a hint of laughter on his face, “Lothlorien.”

Gimli was incapable of speech, but he made a valiant effort, “but you-“ he started, “and then I-you couldn’t have—-but that was ages ago!”

Legolas smiled, “I was never the wisest of elves,” he said, “I cannot explain it, why this...why YOU were different from anyone else I had found attractive.” Gimli had seen him naked, and yet he still blushed at the thought that Legolas found him attractive, “for too long I chastised myself for it. But as I spoke to you...as you spoke to me, and I found out what lies in your heart...I knew that my own heart had chosen well.”

Gimli was in shock. True, he himself could not precisely pin down when his feelings had so completely turned for the elf, but...it couldn’t have been so far back as Lothlorien! 

And then he thought about what this must mean for Legolas. Despite all his actions to the contrary, there was a part of Gimli that thought this whole affair was still just some fleeting thing for the elf. But to have sat on it for this while, to have waited so long (short in the span of a life, but still long,) and not acted made him think this was something else.

He shouldn’t be relieved. He shouldn’t be happy. His love could very well be the end of his beloved and then what would he do? How could he bring this shame to his creator after he had died, to have destroyed something permanent in this world? And yet, Legolas’ love filled him with a joy he couldn’t contain, and so went to his default of kissing Legolas silly.

Legolas responded happily, holding him, but Gimli was the one to pull away. “I love you too,” he whispered at him, “don’t you dare die on me in this fight.”

Legolas smiled and nodded, “i will not fall, until you have given me your express permission.”

“Good,” Gimli nodded, only to be laughed at. Legolas didn’t argue, though, just kissed him again.

“Are you two finished,” Aragorn said, from where he sat, head in his hands off to the side, “you’re both talking about how you don’t want to die among an army of the dead. You don’t think that’s a little uncalled for?”

Gimli and Legolas flinched, watching as a few irritated faces floated into existence for brief moments. “Sorry Aragorn,” they said together.

They survived the battle, but another stood before them, one somehow with less of a chance than those before. 

Legolas and Gimli had been granted a room, though how Gimli did not know. Gondor was in chaos as it tried to pick the pieces of itself back up. But Legolas and Gimli needn’t be concerned with that, not yet. 

They had planned on taking this time to reacquaint one another with their bodies, as it was the first time in too long where they were alone with one another. Still, even as they lay their lips against one another and held each other close, something was off. “I’m sorry, Meleth nin,” Legolas said, breaking the kiss to instead lie on Gimli’s bare chest, “My heart is already on the battlefield tomorrow.”

Gimli sighed, petting a hand through Legolas’ golden hair. “Aye. Mine as well.” He held him tight. “It’s not too late, you know,” he said, not really meaning it, “We could run. We have sworn no oaths.”

“We have,” Legolas said, “I swore that Frodo would have my bow, and you your axe.” He squeezed Gimli a bit tighter, “Besides, where would we run, when the world will soon be eclipsed in darkness.”

Gimli shifted, sitting up and putting Legolas’ head in his lap instead. “This is a cheery discussion,” he said, reaching for his tin of water. 

Legolas traced his fingers along Gimli’s leg. “Can I ask you something, and you promise to consider it without panicking?”

“If this is about some elvish kink, you may as well,” Gimli said, “I can’t promise anything, but it’s not like we’ll have the chance later.”

Legolas chuckled, but it was lighter. “Far scarier than that, Meleth.” Gimli could feel him tense, “Will you marry me?” he asked, and Gimli froze, “Tonight, before the battle. Before…”

He trailed off, but Gimli could hear the unsaid words. Before the end. Before they both died. “What did I tell you of forfeiting your life?”

Legolas smiled, “I promise I will not fall without your permission,” he said, “But...if by chance someone takes that choice from me….I should like to be married before I follow you to the next world, whatever it may be.” He sighed, gripping Legolas thigh, “A silly suggestion, perhaps. Maybe it doesn’t matter. But it’s probably not possible without all the Dwarven structure and contracts and steps. Do not heed me, perhaps we should just sleep before tomorrow.”

Gimli took Legolas by the chin, tilting it to face him. “We can get married,” He said, “Right here, right now.” It was hard to see the change on Legolas’ face, but it was there. “But you must swear to me a few simple things.” Gimli tried to sound as stern and serious as a dwarf could. Legolas nodded. “First, if we are to marry, then it will be out of love, and hope for a life together after tomorrow and after tomorrow’s tomorrow, and every tomorrow thereafter. Not out of desperation to be married before an untimely death.”

Legolas sighed, but nodded, “I swear it, Melleth nin,” he said, “I swear it on every star in the sky.”

“Well, hold onto that,” Gimli said, “Because the next part is the marriage part.” He sighed, “Yes, there is traditionally many steps and ceremonies for a wedding, but in order to be married in the eyes of the creator, you only need one thing. I am going to tell you something, a word. It is the most important word, to me at least. You are never, ever to break my trust and repeat it to another. You must swear you will not for as long as you live so much as say it in mixed company, not dwarf, nor elf, man nor hobbit or any other creature may hear this word. Do you understand?”

Legolas frowned, “I...will, of course, but….what sort of word must not be spoken?”

Gimli took a deep sigh, his body uncertain if he could. “My name,” he said, making Legolas frown. “Not the name my parents gave me. It…” How to explain? “When I was old enough to be considered an adult, I was brought to the garden grove. Every great dwarven establishment has one, and they’re very sacred. Kings are not even allowed on a whim, only those who have been trained, and those they grant permission. Usually the only ones allowed are those who come of age, and the dead.” He sighed, “There is a mushroom that grows deep in the caves, off the bodies of fallen dwarves. When we eat it, we are granted a vision of the creator. There we learn our true name, the name our Creator gave us, and the one we will carry in the next life.” Gimli took a deep breath, “No one, not my family nor anyone dear to me has heard my true name. It is only told to someone on your wedding day, so that they may find you.”

Legolas’ eyes looked...almost sad, “That is...a tremendous thing you offer me,” he said, “I will not take it if you are not sure, but if you are so willing than I will swear on…” He stumbled, “Nothing in the world seems great enough. I swear on Valinor and Iluvatar, the moon, the sun, and the stars….my love for you, whatever you need if it is great enough.”

Gimli chuckled, “Just a promise from you will be enough,” Legolas nodded. Gimli looked to the door, then leaned in to whisper the word into Legolas long ear. Legolas held his breath to hear the word better and commit it to memory. Once Gimli said it, he leaned away, “Now we are married, in dwarven tradition at least.” Legolas sat up, and clung to him like his life depended on it, kissing every inch he could reach. “Easy, love, easy. I don’t suppose the Elvish tradition is so easily done?”

Legolas smiled, “Well, actually….”

Aragorn opened his door to the unlikely pair, now thankfully clothed. “What are you doing?” he demanded, “It’s the middle of the night, and we ride at dawn. Get some rest.”

“Like you were getting any sleep tonight anyway,” Gimli told him, and Aragorn couldn’t deny that. 

“We would ask a favor of you,” Legolas said, “Marry us?”

Aragorn blinked at the both of them, staring at them long enough to realize it couldn’t be a joke. “But…” he said, “I am not an elf.”

“Close enough,” Gimli said, which got a flat look from Aragorn.

“You are of the Dunedain,” Legolas said, “You were raised in the house of Elrond, and you are betrothed to the Lady Arwen--”

“I am not--”

“Yes you are,” Gimli and Legolas said together. 

“The point is, laddy,” Gimli said, “You’re the one who’s been by our side this whole damn time. We’d like it if you were here for this last step.”

Aragorn sighed. He looked around his room. “Come in,” he told them, reaching for his belt, “I don’t have any elven silks, so this will have to do. Hold hands.” Legolas and Gimli did as they were bid. 

“Gimli,” Aragorn said, “Repeat after me,” He spoke in Sindarin, and Gimli only recognized the word for love. He was sure his accent was atrocious, but as he said it, Legolas smiled, tears in his eyes. “It is a promise,” Aragorn explained when he was done, “to love one another for all time, To stand at each other’s side, and...I don’t really know a good translation for the last part.”

Legolas hand tightened on Gimli’s, “to link each others souls and fates together, to be two and one at the same time.” Then, Legolas repeated the swear back for Gimli, and Gimli felt his heart swell. 

Aragorn began singing, something sad to Gimli’s ears, though a lot of Elvish songs seemed sad. He wrapped their hands together with the belt as he sang, the hard leather not wrapping as neatly as a ribbon. Gimli saw the tears leaking from Legolas’ eyes, which he couldn’t be surprised about, but was surprised when he saw the tears leaking from Aragorn as well. That’s when he realized, it was a song of mourning. Mourning the days when they were both free and light, now entering a union that would tie them together into something neither could really ever fully escape. 

But in doing so, in breaking them down to build them back up, Gimli knew they were being reforged into something stronger, and something stirred deep inside him. 

It felt like hope.

The battle was long, and Gimli was sure death was around the corner when the mountain exploded and the tower fell.

The Orcs scattered, the men too tired from fighting and ready to lay down their arms. As they watched, Gimli felt a pang knowing Frodo was there. 

Gandalf has no time for such fear, choosing instead to whistle. One of the great Eagles flew to meet him, “I will fetch Frodo and Sam,” he told Aragorn, “and meet you in Minas Tirith.”

With that he was calm. Everyone looked around themselves, wondering what to do. They turned to Aragorn. “Eomer,” Aragorn said, “do the men of Rohan have fight in them yet?”

Eomer looked to his men, “As much as is needed.”

“Those orcs will scatter into the countryside, and slay all those in their path,” he said, “they must be stopped before they destroy the peace we have just won.”

Eomer nodded, turning and ordering his men into formations. Aragorn turned to the men of Gondor. “Collect the injured and have them ready to be taken to Minas Tirith for healing, and bring forth the dead for a honorable burial. No one will be left here.”

The men scattered through the battlefield looking for survivors. “Legolas,” Aragorn said, “Ride to the citadel. We will need assistance bringing all back to the city, and healers ready to care. Also, we need this news spread, that the free world has triumphed here today.”

Aragorn pulled him and Gimli both in, “and once you’re done, there’s a wedding gift in my room for you.”

Legolas and Gimli smiled, jumping on Arod to ride off.

They moved swift, the reality having not hit. But as they rode through the fields and forests, they found new growth and sunlight taking over the destruction caused by Mordor, the understanding began to take hold: they had won. They were free.

Gimli held onto Legolas just a bit tighter.

Faramir, still recovering, rushed to meet them at the gate. “The battle?” He demanded, as the gate opened.

Legolas leapt from his horse with grace, looking over the gathered people. “The one ring of power is destroyed,” he announced to them, “the forces of Sauron have been defeated.”

A cheer rang through the people, rushing off to tell their loved ones. “Our army’s taken heavy casualties,” Gimli took over the bad news, “Lord Aragorn has ordered healers to meet him and help take the injured in to recover, and the dead to be identified and buried with honors.”

“They will need defenders, though,” Legolas said, “there are still orcs roaming the fields.”

Faramir nodded, “I will lead them myself,”

“My lord,” Eowyn said, coming from behind, “you are the steward. Minas Tirith needs you here to sort through the realms business,” she smiled, “let me go.”

Faramir hesitated, and Legolas and Gimli saw a look pass between them. They wondered what had happened here while they were gone.

“Very well,” Faramir said, “take what guards we have left, you are still healing as well.”

Eowyn nodded and rushed off, smiling at the pair. “I will send word to all the free people of the world,” Faramir said, “Rohan, Rivendell, Lothlorien…”

“If you would do me a favor,” Legolas said, “Add a note to the King of the Greenwood. Tell him his son is safe and well,” he looked to Gimli, “very well.”

Gimli smiled at him, leaning into him. “I’d ask for a favor too, Steward,” he said, “the world cannot stand for an elf to smell as bad as this one does. We could use a bath.”

Faramir grinned at them. “I shall have them drawn for you with due haste.”

The servants had drawn them two baths, but they only needed the one, using the last dregs of their energy to consummate their marriage.

They made their way to the room they stayed in, taking a quick pit stop at Aragorns’ to pick up that gift, a bottle of elvish wine.

By the time they collapsed on the bed, Gimli wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get up again. “Well, I suppose I live here now,” he said.

Legolas hummed, which seemed to be the closest to laughter he could manage. “In Minas Tirith?”

“In this bed,” Gimli said, “let the servants bring me food and a bucket, and I shall remain right here the rest of my days.”

Legolas managed another hum, curling an arm around him. “May I stay with you?”

“You are an integral part of my new life here,” Gimli said, lazily wrapping his own arm around him. “As long as I wish to stay.”

“I’m you’re husband,” Legolas said, “the only place I ever want to be is by your side.”

Gimli ran a hand through his hair. It was still remarkably smooth. “Wait until a night after a full bean dinner. Then you might not want to be so close.” Legolas actually managed a single chuckle, though seemed to be slipping away. “So, you really want this? To be married to me?”

Legolas lifted his head to look at him, “we are married,” he said, “of course I want it.”he frowned, “don’t...don’t you?”

“Don’t doubt my love or want for you,” Gimli said, patting his head more, “I would marry you again, a thousand times. But we married facing a world that was about to end.” Gimli swallows, “I could not blame you for changing your mind.”

Legolas shook his head, “nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed!” Gimli said, “you have a chance now, to...to live…” he swallowed, “I mean where will we live? What will we do? What will our life look like?”

Legolas sighed. “We’ll live together. We’ll do things together. Our life will look however we want.” He sighed, nuzzling his head back into Gimli’s chest, “the rest we can figure out after we sleep.”

Gimli sighed. “You realize, we’re going to have to tell our fathers.” 

Legolas whined. “Tomorrow,” He said, and Gimli chuckled himself before feeling sleep claim him.

The next day, he wondered if they weren't both right. Everything and nothing had changed, like the phases of the moon, slipping in and out of existence, but still somehow always there, just as Legolas and Gimli would be there for each other.


End file.
